


Thoughts in the Dark

by tseida



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Canon Compliant, Other, lonely!kili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tseida/pseuds/tseida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili is left alone in his cell and his thoughts wander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly just a little ficlet that I wrote on the back of a worksheet when I was waiting for friends.

"My mother... she worries. She thinks I am reckless," he whispered. He raised his eyes; Tauriel still stood, unmoving, on the other side of the cell door. She looked fragile for once, as if a single breath could damage her, reduce her to crumbs. She almost looked... sympathetic? Kíli couldn't tell. He let his mind reel as his fingers traced the talisman's jagged runes. The scratches were just a reminder that maybe his mother was right. Maybe he was reckless; maybe he should have never said yes. No one in the company had predicted how much their course of action would veer off the path of their plan. Kíli had only wanted adventure; him and Fíli both. They had followed Thorin straight out the door, disregarding any of Dís' protests. They wanted Erebor and they wanted to be a part of the journey to reclaim it. However, Mirkwood was ruthless, as were the monsters that roamed amongst the trees. Many races were said to have died in this forest at the hand of starvation, spiders or the woodland elves. The elves were fierce, true Sindar, and they were nowhere near as gentle as those in Lothlórien, Rivendell or Imlandris. In fact, there were none in all of Arda who could match the skill of the Mirkwood elves. Their king, Thranduil, was far from merciful and now he had turned against the Line of Durin for the third time.   
Kíli wanted to go home. He wanted to give his mother what she wanted, what he'd promised, what the runestone asked of him each time he glanced at it; he wanted to return to her. He sighed, pocketing the stone. Tauriel looked at him through her hair for a few moments before leaving and he was almost inclined to follow her, but he knew what lay past the door. He had scanned the area as far as his eyes would allow; all that was there was a cliff, and below it, a river. The walkway was only a few feet wide and it climbed all the way to the top, of what, he couldn't tell. It might've been a tree, but there were no leaves and the footing was too rocky. Regardless, whatever it was was scattered with cells and inside each one was a member of his own kin. He knew Thorin was with the King, though. They would never lock up the King of Carvenstone without attempting to negotiate, what little hope there was in that. Thorin was too stubborn to make a deal with Thranduil. Kíli was safer to assume a yelling match between the two; both kings were thick-headed and prone to bragging and asserting their accomplishments. Thranduil was nearly 6,000 years old and he had lived before the Third Age, Kíli was certain of it. The Woodland King also had a son, to whom he would undoubtedly be teaching the feud. Tauriel was close to the son, perhaps if Kíli couldn't help literally, he could use her to convince Thranduil to free them. There was little hope in that, but there was no harm in trying. He leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees in to his chest and he stayed like that for a long time; until he heard Thorin yelling. He did not hear Thranduil's voice once, which he took as a bad sign. Kíli stood up and walked to the door. Peering through the bars, he saw Thorin being harshly led into a cell, wearing an apologetic, yet triumphant look on his face. Everyone knew that a deal with the Elvenking was their only chance of getting out of Mirkwood alive, making this sight an unwelcome one. Kíli sat down and closed his eyes. Perhaps, once the idea sunk in, he would be content with waiting out his lifetime in a cell, but he was without his brother and Fíli's company was of import. He decided that he would take his shot with Tauriel when the next opportunity presented itself. He pulled out his runestone again and began to trace the etchings. It was quiet, so he sang to himself. He sang songs of Erebor, of its halls and elegance, of the Arkenstone and the gold that had poisoned Thror's mind, of Smaug the Terrible and the fires that destroyed Dale, of the battle for Khazad-dum that ensued; and, with naught but his own voice for comfort in the dark heart of Mirkwood, the Heir of Durin waited.


End file.
